


Hieroglyphics (or you are under arrest for being attractive & ruining my life)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Adult Language, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Foggy is an accidental superhero, Frottage, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, au view of how Foggy finds out, he is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as randomly acquired superhero powers go, he is going to admit right now that his are kind of lame. Okay, lots lame. Sort of. But considering Matt is a complete and utter dingus with about the same self-preservation instincts as a mosquito flying full tilt into a bug zapper, he figures an extra edge - as fucking weird and annoying as it is – is probably worth the headache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Marvel's "Daredevil", wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Inspired by a prompt on the Daredevil kink meme which asked for: Matt/Foggy: Foggy is a 'late bloomer' superhero. Foggy is not amused.
> 
> Warnings: This fic takes an au view of how Foggy finds out that Matt is Daredevil, but is more or less canon compliant up to "Nelson vs Murdock." Contains: spoilers up to episode ten, adult language, angst, drama, hilarity, mild violence/blood, humor, and mild sexual content.

As far as randomly acquired superhero powers go, he is going to admit right now that his are kind of lame. Okay,  _lots_  lame. Sort of. But considering Matt is a complete and utter  _dingus_  with about the same self-preservation instincts as a mosquito flying full tilt into a bug zapper, he figures an extra edge - as fucking weird and annoying as it is – is probably worth the headache.

* * *

He called in and gave zero fucks about it. Leaving a message on Karen's phone was easy. She didn't answer calls before 9am and was still slightly homicidal by 9:30am. So, not getting an earful first thing on a Monday morning when it felt like Satan was operating a power drill inside his skull was an unexpected plus.

Matt however was a different story.

_Matt was like pulling teeth._

"Sorry man, I think last night's take-out got the better of me," he explained, looking up at the peeling, discolored flecks of his ceiling. Not having to try very hard at sounding miserable as he toed off his socks and vaguely considered the idea of never stepping foot outside of his apartment again.

"Do you want me to come over? You sound terrible, Foggy," Matt replied, the connection static-strewn and muffled as the clear sounds of the text to talk system reminded him he needed to leave in less than five minutes to catch the next train to the office.

"Dude, no. I am doing you a solid here, believe me. Love yourself buddy. Look, remember that time in the dorms when you were trying to figure out what was rotting in the fridge and I projectile barfed like, half a meter away and then you barfed - because reasons - then I barfed again and it was just fifty shades of awful and we promised not to speak of it again? Yeah, on a Richter scale of terrible this ranks right in. I will text you later, okay?"

The lie was white and small and while part of him told himself that considering the circumstances he shouldn't care, he still felt guilty about it. He didn't like lying to Matt. It makes him feel itchy. It's like, cursing in front of a nun or something. He'd never really figured it out.

* * *

He spent the next two days not so quietly freaking out. Alternating between people watching from the safety of his bedroom window to hiding under his covers with re-runs of The Walking Dead and Star Trek, because he hates his life okay?

Everything in his life happened  _so much_  and he was pretty fucking tired of it by this point if he was being honest. He didn't just have to go to college, he had to go to  _law school_. He didn't just have a roommate, he had to have a  _blind roommate_  who turned into a  _blind best friend_ , then a  _blind crush_  and then into dangerous territory that included years of pining and more romantic failures with other people trying to get past this thing for his best bro than actually getting anywhere on either front. And now he didn't even get to be  _normal_ Foggy Nelson –  _no_. Now he was  _mind reading_  Foggy Nelson.

Jesus, this was his life?

_What even?_

* * *

Truth was he didn't know how it happened or why. There were no radioactive spiders or withered old crones cornering him in dark alleys. Whispering creepy words in Pig Latin and tossing glittering powder in his face. His life was just, well, _life_. Not exactly boring, but not exactly out there either. He hadn't come face to face with anything more intimidating than a couple of state attorneys with chips on their shoulders deep enough to scoop ice cream out of in the last month and a half - so, frankly, he was pretty stumped.

All he knew was he woke up one morning and nearly pissed himself walking out the door when Mr. Henderman from apartment 304 came stomping out of the elevator with storm clouds roiling through the air around his head.

And, just for clarification, he wasn't talking metaphorical thunderclouds or euphemisms here. He was talking about an actual full out  _thunder cloud_  disco-strobing with lightning and thunder. Spreading out like a mushroom cloud on either side of the hall until the shitty ceiling squashed it back down. Spitting rain and hail that seemed to evaporate as soon as it hit the carpet. Sending wind gusts howling down the elevator shaft and back into his room. Feeling the raindrop-splatter across his skin only to mist right through. Leaving him with the sensation trickling down his skin but none of the evidence.

He fell backwards through the door, lips fishtailing. Managing a garbled handful of syllables that could have been words as he threw his arm over his face, ears ringing with the swan song of dying frequencies as a shattering crack of thunder shook the entire god damned floor.

Problem was he was the only one that noticed it.

In fact, what made it worse was that just like that, as the man turned – alarmed - the thunder cloud spluttered and dispersed. Making way for an image of himself - oh god he  _so_  needed to hit the gym - being loaded into a stretcher to flash worriedly in its place.

He'd managed to wave the man and his concern off with something he hoped was at least somewhat convincing and stumble weakly back inside. Closing the door so that he could nurse his impending panic attack in private. Making it approximately 99.9% worse by nearly jamming his eye into the spy hole to watch the man's back retreat down the hall. Faint question marks whirling in wide, looping spirals above his head as he fumbled with his keys and disappeared from view.

He may or may not have slid down the door and stayed there for three hours.

Jury was still out on that one.

* * *

He returned to the office on a Wednesday, approaching cautiously like the building itself might be slightly combustible. Trying really hard not to think about how the bum outside was thinking about corn chips and male fashion as he slunk in and tried to plaster his best ' _I am totally lying about something huge but please don't question me about it'_ smile. Taking Matt's ribbing and Karen's slightly neurotic concern with his usual extreme lack of anything approximating grace.

The day was a complete shit-show with a side order of a chronic migraine. Though the look on Karen's face when he snuck out just before lunch and got her that freakin' donut - honey glazed, white chocolate sprinkles with a drizzle of Carmel cavity-inducing sweetness dripping down the sides that she had been fantasizing about all  _fucking_ morning - made him feel like a god among men, so there's that.

* * *

He wasn't sure if it was because Matt was blind – okay, he  _was_  pretty sure that was a part of it - but he also convinced it was how Matt ordered his thoughts that made being able to see what he was thinking an almost  _religious_  experience.

Because Matt? Matt was even,  _calm_.

His thoughts were surprisingly level. Controlled and rarely racing even when he stood in front of a grim-faced jury hoping for a long shot. They were a balanced  _nothing_  around 80% of the time which was both weird, but also extremely soothing at the same time.

In fact, he'd never been so grateful Matt was blind - and yes he was aware of how bad that sounded. It was just, well,  _awesome_ that he could usually be around the dude without being subjected to a constant thought-disco right out of the 50's and not feel like his eyeballs were about to explode.

Though, it probably didn't help in the beginning that he was balls at figuring out what the man was thinking in the first place. From the moment he walked into the office it was all dark swirls and red-sonar outlines of things he couldn't for the life of him recognize.

Matt thought in colors and shapes that unfurled themselves from a blanketing, off-color mist. He thought in weights, measures and trickling sheaths of red. In movie-reel flicker-flecks and base-line hums of sound. Unlike everyone else, Matt's thoughts seemed to be split. Existing in two distinct, but conflicting wave-lengths of tone and rhythm that were both unnerving and intriguing when he let himself think too much about it.

In retrospect, that was probably his first clue.

It took him a stupidly long time. Which ended up being about two days - because anything involving him not knowing something about his best bro, aka the love of his life, was completely unacceptable - to realize that the red-lined shape that flashed overtop Matt's head on the regular was actually  _him_.

Holy shit balls.

 _It was him_.

_It was his face._

It was how _Matt_  saw him.

As time went on, he even started to recognize the vague hint of features. The outline of his nose, a cheek dimple, even the crinkle he was becoming intimately acquainted with in the mirror these days when he smiled. Which, actually, was kind of impressive considering he'd only let Matt touch his face that one time and he had no idea how a very embarrassing skim of a face could equal detail on that kind of a scale.

But then again, this was Matt. He'd stopped being surprised at the shit that stupidly attractive duck could do ever since third year when he'd somehow managed to save  _him_  from getting run over by a car when they were heading home from bar hopping and that douche-nozzle in a refrigerated truck ran the red when they were already halfway across the intersection.

In other news, once he'd figured that part out, he realized Matt actually thought about him a whole hell of a bunch. Which, to be honest, was a whole other issue in and of itself that he'd get into later.


	2. Chapter 2

Like all other morally questionable things he may or may not have imagined when he was ten years old and reading comics. Having superpowers actually turned out to be more of a two-pronged sword than anything. On one hand, well, he could see what someone was thinking, which was super convenient when their client was innocent and some state attorney was being a dick. But on the other, holy crap was it distracting - _especially_  in the court room.

Okay, no,  _everywhere_  really.

He was pretty sure Karen was a pineapple short of a full on Hawaiian pizza from grabbing him by the collar and demanding to know why he spent more time staring over her shoulder these days than her eyes. And did he mention the headaches? Because yeah, not cool.

On the other hand he discovered pretty quickly that 99.99% of New York needed to either find Jesus or just get laid already. Because  _holy flapping titties_  people thought about sex a lot. Like  _a lot_ - _a lot_. As in he'd gone from an almost semi-permanent case of blue balls to becoming completely sexually numb.

Okay, that was probably a lie.

_Mostly._

* * *

It took a couple of months but he eventually started to own it. Understand it.  _Control it._  He figured that it was like seeing a singular snapshot of what was going on in someone's upstairs. Their thoughts. Impressions. Emotions. Wants. Frustrations. It was basically mental backwash right from imagination land on the regular. It actually started to come in handy once in a while. And not just for things like fulfilling Karen's weekly sugar cravings or knowing when to crack some joke to make Matt smile. But for  _actual_  cases.

It generally made life a whole new shade of interesting. Kids were by far the most fun to observe and generally gave him the worst headaches if he paid attention for too long. Their minds were a riot. All shifting colors and insane shapes. Imaginations so big and vast that he rediscovered his childhood by default every single time. Host to thoughts that bounced, flickering and half formed whether they were sitting quietly with a book or screaming down the street playing tag.

Of course there were the completely opposite times. Like the day he'd been forced to exercise what he felt was a remarkable amount of self-restraint. Telling himself  _not now, boner_  as he tried and failed to ignore the fact that Matt –  _holy god_  – was currently fantasizing about being taken from behind on Karen's desk. With dream-Foggy yanking up his pretty little throat with his tie as he  _pile-drove_  him deeper into the wood with every stroke.

He was almost jealous. Almost. Dream Foggy had some serious stamina and Matt clearly had freaky streak a mile wide, which he was so down for he was currently in  _Australia_. In fact, he ended up standing there with his mouth open, willing his dick not to explode on pure principal as the red-hazed outline playing out in the air above Matt's left shoulder rippled. Listening to his own voice rattle through a growl as he asked Matt how he liked it. How he wanted to hear it. How he wanted Matt to feel it for the next week every time he sat down as he wrenched the man's head up and dragged his teeth down the arc of his throat. Grinning - predatory and preening - when a bubbling sob issued from between the man's clenched teeth. Wanting it – no - practically  _gagging_ for it as he firmed his hand around the curl of the man's hip and restarted the rhythm. Reaching underneath him to palm Matt's cock, oozing sweat and pre-cum all over Karen's seat as-

And  _hell yes_  was it gratifying.

Only problem was, how the hell did you even approach something like that without, a, admitting he saw it, and b, in a way that didn't involve what would no doubt be a lovely trip to the psych ward for one of those uber fashionable strait-jackets and padded rooms?

In the end he decided to take it one crisis at a time and let himself bask in the knowledge that his best friend was warm for his form. That apparently his crush since the dawn of time wasn't as one sided as he'd thought. All the while trying not to _splooge_ all over himself whenever Matt inadvertently treated him to the best skin show in the world and then some.

The guilt was crushing, but hey, what else was new?

* * *

Months turned into half a year and nothing changed. Leaving him with the fast growing reality that this might just be permanent. That he'd be stuck like this and there was nothing he could do about constantly seeing a slide-show of his friends, rivals, clients, mutual acquaintances and complete stranger's inner thoughts.

He'd seen the movies. Read the fanfiction. Watched the cheesy sci-fi pornos and scrolled through the dregs of all the late-night tumblr posts. He  _knew_  this wasn't going to end well. The whole reveal of his super-secret mind reading powers - which was less mind reading and more like mental hieroglyphics a'la Ancient Egypt - was definitely going to bite him in the ass.

But every time he leaned up against the door jamb of Matt's office – dry mouthed and heart racing – he always chickened out. All it took was for his face to flash above Matt's head and that smile to spread as something gave him away and the man's tongue played coy with his name and  _fuck-_  he just couldn't do it.

It wasn't fair. He knew that.

It was wrong.

_So wrong._

But he was afraid, and sometimes an afraid Foggy tried really hard to convince himself that tomatoes were actually potatoes. Or something equally ridiculous. It never exactly worked out. But sometimes it got him through an entire day without his subconscious reminding him what an immature dick he was being. Not being able to come clean to the people he cared the most about. People whose privacy he was violating in a very big way every time he was in the same room as them.

Sometimes he could even make himself believe that it wasn't his fault. That besides a lifetime of hermit-dom on some lonely unpopulated rock with a name no one could pronounce, there wasn't anything he could do. Sometimes he was able to convince himself it was worth it, that he was helping people – helping the good ones. People like Karen and Mrs. Cardenas and everyone else who'd come after. People who were actually telling the truth. He knew it now. He didn't have to rely on Matt and his freaky sixth sense crap or even the evidence. Nowadays all he had to do was look – ask a few pointed questions and watch the entire thing come rippling out. Staining the air above their heads in an unstable kaleidoscope of shitty circumstances and a couple different emotions that usually made his chest ache when he considered how not so long ago he might not have bought a word of it.

Sometimes it even helped him sleep through the night.

_Sometimes._

Then, one night, four guys in dark suits with faces that looked like unhappy endings cornered him in the back of the alley he was cutting through to make the train before the end of bar-rush, and all that changed in less than ten seconds flat.

* * *

"Hey fellas, uh- nice night, huh?"

He saw himself broken and bleeding. The alley dark – questioning - like his future as distant sirens wailed. He saw himself getting a few punches in before they got him on the ground – kicking into the soft of his belly as he wheezed, trying to curl up and protect what he could. Briefcase popping open, sending papers fluttering as it hit the ground around the same time he did.

They were trading thoughts and cracking knuckles, minds a smorgasbord of violence as the closest one took a swipe at him. Making him jerk back into a garbage bin, startling him as it grated back against the brick with a sharp metallic clang. Seeing a pack of hyenas circling and crouching low as the smaller one curved in from the side, brass knuckles glinting.

"Look, I don't have much- but really, just-just take it. Honestly, you picked the wrong part of town for a mugging…I don't want any trouble. Just take my wallet, okay? There's no need for-"

His insides froze as he saw the money they were offered and the shit-head that paid them to do it. The estranged ex-husband of the six month pregnant battered wife they were representing who'd gotten the tables flipped on her when she'd tried to get help. Finding herself accused of assault, battery and a whole laundry list of crimes she didn't commit as her husband sat pretty with a court of company lawyers with suits that cost more than one month's mortgage on their office.

He saw-

He blinked and suddenly there was a figure in black –  _the Man in the fucking Mask_ – between him and the hired goons. But that wasn't why he staggered back. Why he let go of a strangled cry and tried to shield himself as heat waves started licking across the pavement around the man's feet.

_It was because of the rage._

It was because the air above the man's head was a red-licked  _inferno_  already tunneling. Roaring through the alley in a twisting ball of living flame. Burning everything in its wake like it was hell bent on withering the entire city to ashes. It was like a wild-fire but twice as vicious, fueled by something that only got stronger and stronger as the man looked behind him – finding him despite the mask over his eyes – yelling for him to stay back.

Of course, it was then, just before the wild-fire exploded outwards, sucking all the moisture out of the air and leaving him gasping. Punching the air right out of him as the world narrowed down and the man's heartbeat started echoing the one hammering in his chest, that all hell broke loose.

* * *

The last thug hit the ground with a bloody squelch. Making him wince at the grating click of teeth cracking against the pavement. He'd found his feet by this point, suit dirty and hanging off him as the Man in the Mask stood with his back to him, breathing hard. Hands clenched at his sides – rigid and angry – as the fire spluttered out and the scorched earth began to bud green all around them. Spreading renewal and new life before rippling away again. Leaving the alley just as disgusting as it had been when he'd first entered and the both of them a little lesser for it.

He had words. He was sure of that. He always had words. Words like, thank you and what the hell? Like, well, this is awkward and do you accept IOUs for like a dozen fruit baskets? Only he didn't manage to get any of them out before the Man in the Mask turned and he ended up choking mid-breath when that familiar red-hued radar flashed neon and frenetic in the air above his right shoulder.

_His face._

_Matt's unique way of etching out his god damned face._

"Oh, you asshole…" he breathed as the man –  _Matt_  – straightened. Spine arcing like an offended cat, just like Matt did when he was getting interrupted on the stand. Because,  _yeah_ , he knew this guy. This was _his_  asshole thank you  _very_  much. And despite the fact that he was about three seconds from going completely nuclear on his best friend, slash love of his life or whatever the hell they were to each other these days, he always would be.

"You stupid,  _stupid_  asshole," he hissed, advancing. Fingers itching to either hug or strangle the bastard as Matt's head tipped up, a whirling mess of confusion as a swirl of dark water sucked a dark figure down, down, down in the air above his friend's head.

"I don't-" Matt started, quickly surpassing offended and sailing right into indignant with barely a flutter of resistance. Gloved fingers flexing like he wanted to touch but his subconscious thought better of it, letting him close the distance between them with big, angry,  _stomping_ steps.

"No. Nope. You don't get to ask questions right now, buddy. You are in so much trouble _\- fuck you very much_. We are going to talk about this right now," he stated, ignoring the flurry of pictures that spread out above the man's head, too fast for him to catch even if he wanted to as he threw caution to the wind. He grabbed the man by his stupid arm and frog-marched the Devil of Hell's Kitchen up a fire escape and in through the open window of a dilapidated office building that smelled like moth balls and cheap bathroom cologne.

"How did you kn-"

"Shut. Up," he grated, feeling the air as he crowded the man into a corner and refused to feel like an asshole about it. "Oh my god,  _shut up_. I have been subjected to months,  _months_  of Murdock porn-o-vision. Beating myself up about keeping secrets and here you are? With like the  _secrety-secret_  of all time!? How long, Matt!? All this time and you never thought even once I should know? You could have died, Matt! What the hell! Is this what you do every night you don't take our calls?!"

"Foggy, I-"

"But don't for one minute think that tangent is going to get you out of the porn-o-vision thing," he trundled on, picking up speed like an out of control train rounding a steep curve as snap-shot flashes of Matt's cry-face speckled the air with something that felt a whole lot like unresolved sexual tension and something that was only a few steps up from full on teenage angst.

"Which, quite frankly, I am kind of angry about because if you could have just fucking  _told me_  we could have been boning into the sunset  _ages_  ago. You are stupid, but I love you. And yet, here we are again,  _not boning_. Instead we are having a conversation about why you are a massive asshole and just happened to forget to tell me that you are the fucking DEVIL OF HELL'S KITCHEN!"

The creak of a floorboard issued from somewhere downstairs. And while it was only a second of hesitation, Matt seized on it.

"Foggy, this isn't exactly the right time to-"

He was only half aware that he was hard. Desperately, _painfully_  hard. Pressed up against Matt who was pressed up against the corner of a desk. Completely ignoring the fact that Matt was starting to squirm against him. Because coming out of this without something  _big_ going down was frankly immaterial at this point. It was like throwing gasoline on a wild-fire and not expecting it to explode.

"Foggy, I can explain but can we-"

He cut him off with his lips. Drop kicking caution and good sense completely out the window as he knotted his fingers in the back of the man's mask and just kissed the ever living  _shit_  out of him.

Matt whined into his lips.  _Whined._

_The utter audacity of this guy!_

How dare he do such a thing when he was trying to remind himself of all the reasons why he was mad at him. How Matt was in so much shit and how he was going to completely ream him for it later. Hopefully  _much_  later when the whole boner issue was resolved and Matt wasn't pulling on his lower lip with his teeth. Making a whole bunch of really attractive sounds that he really wanted to dissect with his tongue and perhaps other limb-type attachments.

He had his hand down Matt's pants and he was pretty sure he might be having a little bit of a heart attack about it. Especially since Matt was grinding up against him. Biting at his stupidly attractive red lips as he pulled back the slightest of bits and tried to speak words between kisses.

"Foggy, I- _oh_ …oh god," Matt stuttered. "You said-what you said in the alley… _how?_ How did you know? There was no way you could have but your heartbeat… _you knew_. You saw-how did you know? I don't understand how-"

Oh.

_Oh right._

Oh crap.

_Whoops._


End file.
